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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167059">Draíochta</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezotl/pseuds/Ezotl'>Ezotl</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBansheeKween/pseuds/TheBansheeKween'>TheBansheeKween</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Jackson Whittemore Needs a Hug, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Untrustworthy Alan Deaton, Witch Danny Mahealani</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:33:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezotl/pseuds/Ezotl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBansheeKween/pseuds/TheBansheeKween</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles decides he is tired of being the weak and useless human, so when the Nogitsune offers to grant him the power to help his friends in exchange for survival, he feels there is no other choice but to accept.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden/Brett Talbot, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Chris Argent/Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey/Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Lower Power</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s over. It’s finally over. Stiles stares at the wooden container Isaac is still gripping in his hands- paws- whatever. He thinks he should probably check his hands, try reading something, count his fingers, do anything to assure himself that this is real and not just another one of the Nogitsune’s tricks, but all he has in himself at the moment is to slump down on the ground in relief. He closes his eyes, time passing in a blur as someone brings him to Roscoe and makes sure he’s safe to drive. He doesn’t really feel aware of his surroundings until he flings himself onto his bed and resigns himself to another sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling.</p>
<p>By the time the next day comes around, Stiles still hasn’t gotten any sleep. Realizing that he can hear his father’s quiet footfalls coming towards his room, he forces himself out of his bed and over to the left corner where he has his own Crazy Wall from earlier that month, before the Nogitsune- nope. That’s not a path he’s going to go down right now. Or ever. Definitely not ever.  He starts to take down each of the pictures pinned onto the wall as his dad walks carefully into the room.</p>
<p>“They managed to save Aiden, and Allison just got cleared to return home from the hospital. Thought you might want to know,” the Sheriff says awkwardly.</p>
<p>“That’s good,” Stiles allows, though he can’t bring himself to really mean it after all of the shit Allison pulled between torturing Erica and Boyd and standing idly by while her psycho grandfather got all bad-touch on him. He sees his dad turning to leave, before hesitating, seemingly having made a decision.</p>
<p>“And Stiles?” his dad pauses, turning to look at him carefully, “Scott wants you to come to Deaton’s when you can to deal with the jar.”</p>
<p>Stiles immediately starts inwardly panicking, trembling at the memories he has of being forced to hurt his friends, but years of keeping things from the people around him prevents it showing. He nods his head, deciding then and there that he would deal with this now so that he could finally be rid of the pain, the suffering the Nogitsune had caused.</p>
<p>The moment his dad shuts the door to the house and Stiles hears the engine of his father’s police cruiser, he throws himself into action. He races through a shower, throws on the top things of his wardrobe, and speeds out of the house and practically crashes into Roscoe. He realizes that he may or may not have put his shirt on backwards, donned mismatching sneakers, and stolen a pair of his dad’s loafers, but he doesn’t really feel sorry as he careens dangerously down the road towards the clinic.</p>
<p>Upon his arrival, the pack looks up, all of them with pity, sympathy, concern, or a mixture thereof, and he just wants to snap at them for trying to coddle him, when they should be punishing him for almost killing Allison, bringing Aiden to the brink of death, threatening his friends, his pack, his family. But instead all they have for him is their apologies, condolences. Useless things that won’t turn back time or stop what happened.</p>
<p>Deaton seems to notice what he’s feeling, observant bastard, and speaks up into the awkward tension that seemed to have appeared from thin air the moment Stiles walked into the room. “I have suggested that it may be… therapeutic for you to personally be the one to rid us of the Nogitsune permanently.”</p>
<p>Stiles is taken aback by this, as he was certain that Deaton couldn’t only want to help him, as the man had been far too cryptic when working with them in the past, and he always seemed to hide something behind his vague assurances and cryptic bits of info. He searched the man’s expression, finding hints of eagerness, but couldn’t fathom how the man’s actions would be harmful enough to do damage without drawing suspicion to himself, so he shrugged and agreed.</p>
<p>“Perfect. Stiles, just bury this box back under the nemeton, and we can be rid of this monstrosity permanently.”</p>
<p>Stiles reaches out and takes the container from Deaton’s hands, willing his arms to stop shaking, forcing his legs to solidify just enough to stop himself from collapsing as he could feel another panic attack on the verge of breaking through. The minute his hand comes into contact with the urn, however, the world around him fades away to nothing as he finds himself back in the room of his own mind, from when he was trapped by  trapped. He forces himself to take a deep, shuddering breath and press down the lump that is forming in his throat.</p>
<p>“Hello again, Stiles”</p>
<p>The voice is none he has ever heard. A tinkling feminine voice that, to the untrained ear, sounds musical and excited, as if speaking with him is a true pleasure. But, if one listens closely enough, they can hear the sadistic, dangerous undertones running through the otherwise simple words. Turning to look in the direction the voice came from, Stiles finds a woman different than anything he has ever encountered staring at him calculatingly. </p>
<p>She looks beautiful in her own way, with a flowing robe that appeared to come from a time long forgotten, long brown hair flowing in a perfect line. She held herself with all of the regality and poise of a ruler, but with an underlying tension that denoted the readiness to break into a fighting stance at any given moment. She appeared every bit the fox that Stiles suspected her to be.</p>
<p>“I don’t think we’ve met,” Stiles snarks back at whatever the creature was.</p>
<p>“Oh, you don’t remember me? I’m hurt, considering I’ve spent quite a while in that beautiful mind of yours,” the woman remarks, flipping her hair back with a dismissiveness that would rival Lydia.</p>
<p>Stiles feels fear bloom and flourish in his chest, but continues to shove it down to deal with later. Putting on his best impassive face, he asks a question that’s burning in his mind: “If you are really the same monster that used me as a meat-suit for weeks, then why did you never take this form before?” </p>
<p>“Surely, Stiles, you can figure that one out for yourself with that resourceful mind you have. You wouldn’t have been such a fun, ‘meat-suit’, as you eloquently put it, if you weren’t so sharp-minded.” Stiles chooses not to dignify that with a response, and the woman sighs, continuing, “but, if you must know, I dislike taking my true form while possessing a host, or anything that resembles it. So, I stayed as past hosts to prevent my true strength from being revealed too soon.”</p>
<p>Well, wasn’t that encouraging? That’s all he needs, Stiles thinks. For the abomination possessing him to be even more powerful than they already knew, which was quite strong considering the effort they had put in to bring this monster down. Suddenly, a memory of something from long ago, during his research spiral when he found out about the kanima, he found all sorts of strange legends and myths, one of which about a particular Japanese fox spirit that sowed chaos wherever she went, trying to gain power.</p>
<p>“You’re not just a regular Nogitsune, are you?” Stiles realizes.</p>
<p>“No, quite right. I’m a Kyubi, but you already knew that, didn’t you Stiles?” the woman says, appraising gaze slipping past her impassioned expression for a split second before shifting back to kindness.</p>
<p>“You’re correct. But what would the legendary Tamamo-no-Mae want with a squishy human like myself?” Stiles ponders out loud, trying to bait out more information before the situation inevitably went south.</p>
<p>“Why, what anyone would do if they had more self-preservation than a gnat. I want to make a deal with you, of course,” she chimes, her voice ringing like bells as she speaks.</p>
<p>“And what could I possibly have to gain from sparing you from the torture of entrapment under the Nemeton again?” He ponders. Stiles is feeling vindictive; this aeons-old spirit tries to kill everyone he loves, and now it's asking for his mercy? Oh, this’d better be good.</p>
<p>“I can offer you the thing you want most. Your wish truly is unique among children as young as yourself. Most mortals wish for fame, or fortune, but I have been inside your mind, and all little old Stiles wants is the power and knowledge to protect his friends. It’s almost pitiable, honestly,” She remarks calmly, dispassionately, as if it is a foregone conclusion that he will accept her offer.</p>
<p>Which, he supposes, it truly is. She knows exactly what to offer to get out of her entrapment, and Stiles is willing to hand it to her that she definitely has the power to back up her offer if she is truly who she claims.</p>
<p>“It’s a deal.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Stiles, you should have known me well enough to ask for specifics first,” she remarks, looking down at him and smirking, after shaking his hand.</p>
<p>As soon as he lets go, the world turns black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey so this is Banshee here and this is both of our first experience writing a fic. I'm slowly getting Ezotl obsessed with Teen Wolf though so be ready for two differing styles lol. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and encourage anyone to leave constructive criticism, questions, or requests of plot in the comments, as we have a vague outline of how we want the story to go, but nothing definite. Thanks y'all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Problems of the Future and Stories of the Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles discovers what exactly he gained from his deal with Tamamo.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reality snaps back into place around Stiles as he manages to cover his shock in front of the werewolves. He sweeps the room with his gaze, passing over each individual with an assessing stare at everyone’s faces. None of them seem to have noticed anything, except... Deaton. The man looks like Christmas has come early, and a sense of something suspiciously like bile rises in his stomach. He briefly glances around the room once more, noting the expectant gazes of everyone, and he realizes they’re waiting for him to say something. </p><p>“Of course, I’ll head there now.” Stiles says as he turns away from the rest of them and goes back to his treasured jeep. He hops in and drives himself to the preserve, walking until he finds the Nemeton. As he approaches it, the memories come crashing to the forefront of his mind. Thousands of years of languages, people, knowledge, entities, it all came flooding to him. Thousands of years of power. It’s overwhelming.</p><p>Stiles staggers towards the tree as memories that aren’t his replay through his mind’s eye. Encountering dark beings powerful enough to destroy the world, big enough to host millions of nightmarish creatures on its own body. How Tamamo had bargained with these for power. How she had learned the ins and outs of every form of magic known. How she practiced manipulation, trained her cunning through centuries of strife and chaos and pain, just to feed off of it for power. How, the moment she turned 3000, she became near-omniscient, knowledge coming easily to her.</p><p>Stiles has 3000 years worth of memories, and he sits down on the remnants of the Nemeton, once proud and tall, but now nothing more than a pitiful stump. He stays there and focuses on the more important memories, and one by one they come into focus. He sees first the beginning of Tamamo coming into her power, her misery during the Greek Dark Ages slowly corrupting her until she could feel nothing but strife and pain, and craved for everyone around her to feel the same. She was abandoned by her husband, and the people of her village declared her exiled for not having been married. She was scorned by her friends, her family, all for being left by the man she loves. She went from village to village, each turning her down or running her out, until eventually she found a woman that lived alone practicing magic.</p><p>She trained under the woman, studying under her to learn magic powerful enough to raze towns with plagues. She called herself Hecate. This knowledge came in handy when she became stranded in Tartarus, but nearly cost her sanity when she used a spell to see the reality of her situation, that she was stranded on a being so immense that its back served as an entire realm, and Tamamo reached out to anyone, anything that could help her. She received a visit from something less than expected, meeting with Tartarus itself to bargain for a way out. She promised to rid it of one being that plagued it in exchange for its blessing and the chance to escape death once, when it came for her.</p><p>The memories continued to rush through his mind. How she ran into a being she couldn't place, and discovered it was actually the progenitor of demons. That she had actually encountered Lucifer, the devil himself, and struck a bargain to protect herself from the environment, with the added bonus of identifying every lie being told to her, and to hear the truth behind it. That she used this to keep herself from ever being manipulated again, because she was tired of her own life of strife and chaos. Additionally, he granted her his blessing as well, compounding her protection.</p><p>He learns that she had made three more deals. The next to come was Loki, silver-tongued prince of Asgard, who allowed her to shapeshift beyond her possession, to any being she physically came into contact with. Later, came A'kresh, with the ability to identify any form of manipulation. Last came Ala, with protection from curses and diseases. Every single one of them extended their blessing to her. </p><p>Stiles realizes now that each and every one of the memories he saw, he has for a reason. He can feel the power thrumming through his veins, can feel deep in his soul that the deals she made aren't just her deals anymore. He has every single perk granted by those deals, and though he can't prove it, he suspects that he has each creature's blessing as well.</p><p>Stiles happens upon the idea that he can see what Tamamo was thinking when she was bargaining with him by sifting through her memories. As he does, he can tell that Tamamo was certain that dumping all of these memories would drive him insane while fulfilling her side of the bargain, but he can't tell why she wasn't right. For all intents and purposes, she was right. He should be clinically deranged by now, and he was quite certain that Deaton knew it too. And yet, here he was, still with a perfectly functioning… oh. Well, a brain that was functioning just as well as it was before.</p><p>On the bright side, he can also see that not only did she transfer all of the properties she achieved from deals, but also the entirety of her magical ability was copied to him as well. He may not have mastery over each of the types of magic just yet, but he has all of the knowledge he could ever need. He just needs the time to accustom himself to using it, to train his reflexes and memorize the spells for himself. It shouldn't be hard with his eidetic memory, so he doesn't think it will take too much time.</p><p>Stiles notices that the sun is going down and realizes that if he is out here for any longer, people are going to get suspicious, so he takes the urn made of mountain ash, and heads back to the root cellar. He places it at the base of the Nemeton's roots, and he realizes that if Deaton were to come by and prove that the fly was gone, the pack would be pissed, so he digs through his memories, and channels his newfound abilities to create an imitation of one of the flies used by Tamamo on her possession spree. </p><p>It takes him a moment to understand how to access the power, a feeling of electricity flowing through his veins, when he finds a core, deep inside his psyche, full of built up potential. He latches onto it, and tries to form it into the shape of a fly in his mind's eye, before reciting the spell that Tamamo's memories provide him.</p><p>As the fly blinks into existence, Stiles takes his opportunity and closes the box around it, leaving the wooden container locked into the roots. As he calms himself down after using magic, feeling as if he has barely begun to touch the depths of his magic, he drives himself back to his home and locks himself in the bathroom, turning on the shower as a front as he stands over the counter, trying to piece a plan together in his mind.</p><p>He knows he has to put up a decent front for at least as long as it takes for him to get a full handle on his magic. Stiles knows that there will be more big bads before he can tell the pack. Though, with his magic and blessings, most should turn away from him. He pauses momentarily, sifting through the memories for a spell to set a boundary around Beacon Hills that would alert him with the basic information of whoever crosses over it if they weren't human.</p><p>Stiles knows everything that happened to Tamamo, and he can't help but feel a pang of pity for what happened to her. Being left behind by everyone you love is definitely a sentiment Stiles can relate to, after Scott has almost entirely stopped talking to him. Stiles still feels abandoned after Scott left him to be tortured by Gerard after helping him without thanks for months. </p><p>He decides that next time, he will be strong enough to save himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the slow update y'all. Life kinda got in the way for a hot second but here's a second chapter. If you have any, feel free to comment any questions or criticisms you have. Thank you for reading! -Banshee</p><p>Quick note: If you are wondering how Stiles got a hold of his magic that fast, it comes down to a combination of his Eiditic memory and the fact that he has Tamamo's memories. He can recall any spell she has cast, and replicate it, which allows him to commit it to memory. There will of course be forms of magic Tamamo doesn't know, but for the ones she does, Stiles essentially has to put effort into thinking of it once, and from that point on it will be instantly recallable.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Spectre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles learns more about his magic as he efficiently deals with new threats arising in Beacon Hills.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Weeks go by without incident, some less powerful creatures such as wendigos and elves go passing through the wards, in and out without any issues, and Stiles keeps practicing his magic. He learns some of the basics of how magic works as a whole, discovering that there are eight fields of magic, broken into sorcery, magecraft, druidry, elementalism, necromancy, empathy, alchemy, and enchantment. While Tamamo’s memory tells him that he is a master of magecraft and elementalism, the rest are still entirely foreign to him.

</p>
<p>Each field contains a different brand of magic, he learns, that allow the change of a different part of the world. Sorcerers incorporate control over the four elements, mages encompass spells cast through spoken word or gesture, sometimes even in silence, druids use rituals and rites to derive power from nature, elementalists derive their power from bargains made with powerful entities that grant them strength, necromancers focus on interacting with the dead and the macabre, empaths receive, send, and control emotions of both humans and creatures, alchemists study transmutations and potions, and enchanters create runes, sigils, and, you guessed it, enchantments, to modify objects, places, and people with long-term effects.

</p>
<p>The magical world has a hierarchy to it that is clean and simple. When you become proficient in one area of magic, you gain the title of Warlock. When you master it, you become a High Warlock. Whichever magic user has mastered more areas of magic deserves the inferior magic users’ respect, and is entitled to punish the weaker practitioners if they fail to do so. Though it is extremely rare, a magic user who has mastered all eight forms of magic is known as Draíochta, which, from what Stiles can tell, is derived from the old Gaelic word for witchcraft.

</p>
<p>Thus, Stiles is already incredibly powerful by anyone’s standards, but now that he doesn’t have any more memories to rely on to learn the remaining six forms, he must seek out teachers for each. Running through Tamamo’s memories, there is definitely a teacher he has in mind for each of the missing magic types. All but sorcery, but Stiles already has a plan on how to surmount that particular difficulty.

</p>
<p>As he finishes his plans to learn the other forms of witchcraft, Stiles gets information from his wards that immediately makes him nauseous. His wards seem to almost scream the words at him: “Kate Argent, 30, Nagual”. He feels her enter the territory as a sense of sluggishness slamming into him, and he takes a moment to balance himself on his nightstand. As the feeling settles itself, Stiles is making use of his most handy spell, teleporting himself to where he felt her cross into Beacon Hills after making sure his face and scent were obscured. Because of all the new creatures entering Beacon Hills, Stiles had taken it upon himself to investigate whenever a new creature showed up. This allowed him to practice stealth and magic, and it became an often enough occurrence that he had mastered the ability to teleport without having to utter the spell out loud. 

</p>
<p>He allows most of his thoughts to fade from his mind as he stares Kate down from a distant alleyway. She seems to know exactly where she is going, heading straight for the downtown area. Stiles makes sure not to draw her attention as she heads leisurely to an apartment building that looks increasingly familiar the closer he gets- oh. She’s heading straight for Derek’s loft, and she clearly isn’t going in for a kind chat. Muttering something to himself about Derek’s astounding taste in women, Stiles makes his presence known, while keeping his scent and heartbeat to himself. Making sure to cast the voice-changing spell before speaking, he begins:

</p>
<p>“Kate Argent,” he declares, his voice strong and authoritative from weeks of practice intimidating foreign creatures, “if you cause any harm to the people of this city, you will be dealt with harshly. And I will not be as forgiving as a quick slice to your throat. You have 30 minutes to leave Beacon Hills. If you are found after that, you will not be leaving Beacon Hills at all.”

</p>
<p>Kate blanches, looking at him with a sneer that seems to be covering up fear, and snarls at him. “Out of my way, Spectre.” Stiles has to hold back a snort at the use of the name given to him by those he has threatened. Beacon Hills is gaining a reputation for a ghost that tails the new supernatural beings. If it deemed the traveller beneficial for the territory, they would be allowed to stay; If, however, the traveller was deemed detrimental, the would-be criminals were given an ultimatum. Leave Beacon Hills, or be punished by death. His reputation had spread quite far amongst the surrounding communities, but Scott and Derek, as always, had no idea what was happening around them. Lydia, however, had noticed immediately and attempted to bring it up during a pack meeting, before Scott hushed her in the name of his delicate sensibilities. He couldn’t bear to even hear that some dastardly vigilante dare exist and threaten to kill in his territory, and his eyes flashed red as he said “I don’t want to hear any talk of this ghost that supposedly scares off supernaturals. It’s just a story made up to scare away frightened weaklings from the town.” Stiles frowns at the memory of his so-called brother’s moral intolerance. One day, Stiles was sure Scott would be faced with the choice between seeing grey or dying, and he truly wasn’t sure whether Scott would survive.

</p>
<p>Bringing his focus back to the present, Stiles focuses on the old adversary before him. “So, you’ve decided to come back to Beacon Hills to try finishing what you started all those years ago. Well, I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

</p>
<p>With those words, Stiles lets his magic flare up, flowing through him freely. He threw enough force behind the spell he flung to melt a major god, and made sure it hit home. A glowing grey orb formed in the air between the two and flew directly at Kate, too quickly to react. Stiles watched indifferently as she was stripped away from reality, removed from existence by a simple orb. Well, that went easier than expected. With the threat gone, he allows himself to process what just happened. Kate Argent, Kate MOTHERFUCKING Argent, just came back from the dead and tried to adult-nap Derek. Well, that would’ve certainly been annoying to deal with. Knowing her, she would have done something stupid and instead of just outright killing him, she would construct some ridiculous plot to make him suffer, like turning him young again just to get him to trust her. That would’ve been dumb as hell. Who wants to deal with an even more hormonal Derek, anyways? Not Stiles, that’s who. 

</p>
<p>Now that the fatigue settles in, Stiles realizes it’s time to head back to the house. Having put too much energy into one spell, he knows that if he tried to teleport he’d have no way of being certain he would get home. Fatigue+teleportation spells=disaster is an equation Stiles has memorized all too well after the Volcano Incident of Last Tuesday. He shudders at the memory, and starts making the walk home. He turns a corner, and the last thing he sees is a car turning way too quickly before he’s on the floor. The world goes dark as Stiles loses himself to pain.</p><p>When Stiles wakes up, the first thing he notices is that someone is holding his hand. This is nice, he thinks, until he realizes he has no idea where he is or who the hell is holding his hand. Shooting up and looking around, however, turns out not to be the best idea, as pain flares up in his chest as what exactly happened hits Stiles. He got hit by a car. Of all the ways he could get severely injured in his supernaturally infested life, he gets hit by a goddamn car. Of course he did. Then he remembers he still doesn’t know who’s holding his hand, and looks over to see everyone’s favorite goalie, Danny Mahaelani, holding his hand while he snores contentedly on the chair.

</p>
<p>Stiles, being the god of tact and respect that he is, of course, flails harder than he ever has before, accidentally flinging himself to the floor in the process, and now Danny is definitely not snoring. Stiles tries not to snort at the look of derision Danny shoots him now that he’s not thinking he’s getting kidnapped.

</p>
<p>Stiles tries to be normal, he really does. “Hey, Danny! How ya doin, man. I really like these floors, ya know. Did you guys do the hardwood yourself?” then, before Danny can call him out on his ridiculous attempt at justifying falling off of the bed, he takes a look at the wood, and realizes that it’s made out of- “Wait, is your floor by any chance made out of Rowan wood?”

</p>
<p>“Stiles, did you really think any of you were actually subtle with the whole supernatural experience?” Danny asks, looking at him like his final brain cell was threatened by Stiles’ very presence. Stiles lets his magic expand within him, and he can see Danny’s eyes widen in shock as he takes in more and more magic, preparing to heal himself. By the time he mutters the spell and every trace of injury fades away, Danny’s eyebrows are practically hidden in his hair.

</p>
<p>“Well, I mean, it’s high school. When does anyone actually pay attention to what’s going on around them?” Stiles tries, attempting to ignore the fact that Danny clearly notices the build-up of magical energy in him. Danny, however, is clearly having none of it, and calls him out.

</p>
<p>“Stiles, please tell me how the hell you have the magical strength and control of someone who’s been practicing for decades when I know for a fact you didn’t even start training your spark until at most a year ago,” he demands, seemingly unwilling to let the subject drop. Though, Stiles surmises, if he had encountered someone as powerful as 
him with the knowledge they have barely practiced, he would be pretty suspicious too.

</p>
<p>Stiles shrugs, “Yeah, kind of got possessed by an ancient demonic fox spirit, had some minor side effects.”

</p>
<p>Danny’s eyes go wide, clearly coming to his own conclusions while Stiles just sits back and thinks about what he’s going to do next. There was a rumor of a thief that stole millions of dollars from around Beacon Hills, but Stiles doesn’t have enough evidence yet to prove it was something Supernatural. He might go looking for that next. Well, maybe he can just go-

</p>
<p>“STILES!” Danny shouts, “Seriously, I know you can’t focus that well but this is ridiculous.” 

</p>
<p>“What were you saying?” He inquires, all faux-innocence.

</p>
<p>Danny stares him down, clearly trying to analyze him, but Stiles knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. He had practice lying about how he was feeling for years, and that was before he got an extra few aeons of it from the other memories. Out of patience, Danny just sighs. Having successfully stalled for a long enough time to recover fully, Stiles teleports himself and Danny to the most recent site of a theft, and quickly casts a spell to see exactly what happened during the break-in.

</p>
<p>Was that, Brunski? What was he doing here? And why would he need all that money? Stiles knew he was missing something, so he decided to follow up on it. Before Danny even had time to speak after regaining his surroundings, Stiles whisks them off to Eichen, long ago having discovered that there was nothing there that could keep him out.

</p>
<p>“Brunski, do you mind telling me exactly why you went around stealing millions of dollars from houses around Beacon Hills? And do not try to deceive me, or I will draw out your death extensively,” Stiles commanded, shielding Danny from view with his magic. Danny, able to see his magic, understood what Stiles did and remained silent so as not to draw attention to himself. Meanwhile Brunski sat there, stunned, as fear crept more and more onto the man’s face.

</p>
<p>“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me, I have other means of finding out,” he says, before reaching into the Orderly’s mind and sifting through until he discovers what he is looking for, a set of machines that work together to create an online deadpool of all the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills. 

</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Stiles muttered, casting a spell to destroy the machine, then teleporting him and Danny back to Stiles’ bedroom.

</p>
<p>“Well that was a fun trip, Danny, but I’m going to have to ask you to get out of my bedroom,” Stiles smirks devilishly as Danny blushes, ignoring the confounded stammers emerging from him as he pulls out his phone.

</p>
<p>One new text from Scott. “made beta, doesnt know, freaked, get here now” 2 hours ago. Stiles smirked. Well, this is going to be interesting.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Pride y'all! This is an update in honor of the month of the gay. Sorry if this one rushes the plot of season 4 a bit, I didn't really know how to make it flow smoothly. If anyone wants to, they can recommend the new circumstances that made Scott bite Liam, since obviously the Mute hasn't happened in this timeline. The next few chapters will be more about Stiles developing his magic, with guest appearances showing up along the way for several other fandoms.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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